The Battle for Helm's Deep
by Mike-045
Summary: My own version of the Battle for the Hornburg...a mix of book descriptions and movie imagery, and my own tinkerings.  Contains violence, not much language, ironically. Please review!
1. Chapter One: A First Skirmish

**Author's Notes: **Hey all, this is my third story on the site, something I was spontaneously inspired to write up! This is a more narrative version of the Battle of the Hornburg, as seen/read in Tolkien's _The Two Tower's_. I absolutely love the books, and Peter Jackson's rendition gave them all of the justice they deserved! Now that that's out of the way, let's get on with the story.

**Disclaimer(s):** Once again, I own nothing. Not the books, not the movies, and not the coffee I'm drinking (thanks mom!).

* * *

**Chapter One: **A First Skirmish. 

Gamling studied the slowly approaching horde. It consisted mainly of the Orcs of Isengard; a trifling menace, only dangerous in vast numbers. Unfortunately, vast numbers were exactly what were coming. Turning, he glanced over the fifty-or-so men of the Westfold gathered about him. Théoden himself had placed Gamling in control of this garrison, under orders to hold it to the last man.

An order readily accepted.

Unsheathing his sword, Gamling thought back over the past few days. Many changes had come to Rohan-the legions of Saruman, _traitor_, to all Free People, were ravaging the lands-coursing through the open plains unchallenged. Then, several newcomers had arrived unbidden; Gandalf the wizard, well known to these lands, and three companions that were not. They had escorted the Wizard into the Golden Hall of Edoras, and had promptly expelled the scum, Grima Wormtongue - a vile creature, cowardly and manipulating.

Upon Théoden King's return to health, these guests of the Rohirrim had convinced him to ride to war, taking the entire garrison of Edoras with him.

However, news had reached the Riders that the Westfold had fallen, and all was in disarray. At this point, Gandalf had left them for some pressing errand, and the group progressed with haste. Around this point, things had gone terribly downhill-a pack of Warg Riders had ambushed them, killing many, including the Captain of the Guard, Hama. But they were repulsed, and the survivors made their way to the fastness of Helm's Deep, bringing Gamling's pondering to the present.

Having picked many good men, strong fighters, Gamling was determined to hold the Dike for as long as possible.

And that was how he had come here, in a shallow trench between the arms of mountains, with an empty plain behind and foes ahead. Night was closing - many of the Orcs and Wildmen of Dunland carried lit torches, and a bizarre gathering of dark clouds accompanied them.

Gamling sighed. It would be a long night.

Suddenly, his thoughts were shaken - the horde was running now, screaming guttural war cries and brandishing crude weapons.

The warriors surrounding him readied their bows, Gamling sheathing his sword to lift his own - a beautiful weapon, made of burnished blackthorn - and took aim at one of the many…_targets_…encroaching them. They were within range - and the bows of the Rohirrim sang.

Despite many arrows flying into the wave of attackers, only a few fell, and the rest trampled their fellows underneath in their blood lust. Fortunately, no answering volley came, and the Rohirrim took up arms just as the first Orcs leapt into the trench. It was almost instantly skewered by three spears in the abdomen, literally lifted off of its feet and into the wall behind it.

However, three more took its place, accompanied by a Dunlander or two. One of these men, long-time enemies of Rohan, lifted up a crude axe, and brought it down on a young warrior's shoulder. The man yelped out in pain, but thrust his own blade into the other's throat, bringing them both down.

More and more Orcs were flooding into the trenches, and the Rohirrim were being hard pressed to hold them back.

Gamling, taking two men of the Guard of Edoras with him, charged forward, and beheaded an Orc, the same blow disabling another's uplifted arm. The Orc screamed out in shock, but was silenced from one of the Guardsmen.

By now, some Orcs with ugly bows had came near and were firing heedlessly into the trench-doing more damage to their own, so many were their numbers-and the Rohirrim had to lift their shields above them. This proved to be fatal, as the Orcs among _them_ would then grab the exposed legs, bringing the shaken warrior down, and then tear the unfortunate man apart gleefully. Spears were thrown into the entangled mass of Orc, and the Rohirrim, now altogether ruthless, hacked and slashed their way through to the other side of the trench.

* * *

Many minutes, if not hours, later, the battle cries had quieted down; yet tremors of combat still stirred the Men from rest. 

Finally, the last Orc - nothing more than a squat, squint-eyed creature - was slain, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Gamling inspected the survivors. Nearly three score had come.

And only thirty-seven would leave.

Gamling's armor was dented in many places, the cloak about him torn, and he was bleeding in more places than he would care to mention.

But they had won.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** ...and there you go. The start to a rip-roarin, mud-flinging, entrail-swinging Lord of the Rings fanfiction. Please Review-I'd love to know what you lot think; 

Cheers,  
_-mike_


	2. Chapter Two: An Assessment of Values

**Author's Notes: **Here it is, the second chapter in _The Battle for the Hornburg_. There isn't any combat in this chapter, more like the set-up for the combat… Just so you know, this isn't one of my favorite of all chapters, just one of those things that needs to be done… Well, I hope you enjoy it more than I did writing it :P

**Disclaimers: **As much as I would like to say otherwise, I do not own The Lord of the Rings or any other works that have anything to do with this story.

**Chapter Two:** An Assessment of Values.

Théoden sighed. The aging King had a map of Rohan laid out before him on a cold stone table. He had summoned his captains to him, among them Ceorl, Erkenbrand's messenger, and Widfara, an out-rider hailing from the open Wold. Hama and Gamling would have been present, but the former was deceased and the latter holding Helm's Dike against sorties of Orcs.

Looking up, he surveyed the visages of those present, and silently grimaced.

* * *

In the Tower of Orthanc, trouble was brewing. 

Saruman the White smiled darkly. The Men of Rohan, once a numerous and well-off people, were now forced into lives of brigands and bands of survivors. Despite their longevity in times of strife, the denizens of the Riddermark would soon join their predecessors…

Suddenly, there came a rapping, as of someone gently tapping, tapping at his chamber door.

Without turning, the White Wizard solemnly uttered, "Enter."

In moments, the perpetrator entered - Grima, called Wormtongue by some in Rohan. He was a pale man, slick, greasy hair plastered to his skull and an overly large coat about him. He was breathing heavily.

Saruman snorted. "You stink of horse."

His spy dismissed this, and replied, "Théoden King has left Edoras with all her people. He has summoned the Riders of the Eastfold and is attempting to bring order to those of the West."

He paused for breath, and continued, "Fortunately, the majority of his subjects are…_tied up_," he put emphasis on those two words, "by your gangs of Orcs. How much longer until you release the true threat?"

Saruman chuckled at his servant's latest words, a gravely, gnarled sound. He then countered, "When the time is right. I want Théoden to dread what is coming to his people, to give them some false hope, for every death to be a knife in his heart!"

Despite this outburst, he had continued calmly mixing the volatile contents of the spiked ball before him. It was an unusual contraption – a fist of iron, spikes jutting from every surface on it. However, its appearance was nothing compared to its payload – but that was another story, for another day.

Turning on his heels, he stared Grima down, and muttered, "What do you know of Helm's Deep?"

* * *

"We will line the Deeping Wall with archers. If we have enough able-bodied men left, then I want them over the Gate-it must be held at all costs. The Guard will be kept with me, as will the Knights of my Household in the Keep. Once Eomer arrives, we shall have enough men to provide guard for the refugees." 

Théoden lowered a hand to the culvert below him, and continued on, "as you can see, this grate is the weakest point in the Deeping Wall. Fortunately, Saruman does not know of it…yet. Now, if we can continue to the Gate, the defenses there may need inspecting."

In his heart, Théoden was losing hope by the minute.

He called out to Deorwine, the Head of his Household, "How many have been drafted, Deorwine?"

The man turned his head and answered, "One thousand, m'lord."

As the thirty or so men walked towards the Hornburg, Widfara slowed next to next to him. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke, "my liege…we are outnumbered, outmatched. You know it. The men know it. I can feel it in the air, in the water, in the very stone beneath me feet. We both know what is coming," he paused, and then solemnly pronounced:

"Change."

* * *

Saruman was seated in his throne room, which also housed the Palantir of Orthanc. He had since dismissed Grima for a repast, and more importantly, a bath. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the pitiless creature, when a more revolting sight appeared in his vision. 

It was an Orc, but it was not. The beast stood nearly seven feet tall, taller than Saruman himself. It was broad chested, insanely muscled, and bore a stink characteristic of its kind. He was of the first brood of Uruks, of direct kinship to Lurtz and Ugluk themselves. Unlike his mindless subordinates, this monster was a brilliant tactician, and an even greater warrior.

Betraying no emotion, the Uruk-hai commander rumbled in a deep, almost feral bass, "the troops are nearly ready, my liege. Eight thousand have been rallied, fully armored and filthy." Here he grinned, showing many crooked, pointed teeth, "as per your orders. Another thousand are being armed, and the final thousand are being trained as I speak." He stopped, and licked his lips.

Saruman held his gaze, and uttered, "How long?"

At this the commander's smile gave way to an impassive grin.

"Three days."

* * *

**Closing Notes: **There you go, chapter two...this Chapter brought several changes to the scene, and the introduction of an unentionally bad-a$$ character...Please Review, Reviews mean the world to me. Please point out any spelling errors, and an Easter Egg will be awarded to the first to name the non-LotR work somewhat referenced early in the chapter.

Cheers,  
-mike


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